


A Bunch Of Assholes Hiding In Trees

by FuckingBeetlejuice



Series: The Glorious War AU [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: AU, Death and Chaos kind of, Fröbel and Glory arent that friendly with each other, Gen, Minor Character Death, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, The Glorious War AU, The Railroad (Fallout), deacon/oc on the down low, dez and arthur are only mentioned, mild gore i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:34:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24143671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuckingBeetlejuice/pseuds/FuckingBeetlejuice
Summary: Travis Miles enlisted in the Army Of United Fractions. Fresh on the battlefield he finds The Railroad.
Series: The Glorious War AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742326
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	A Bunch Of Assholes Hiding In Trees

**Author's Note:**

> this is the exposé for my Glorious War AU. i recently watched saving private ryan and... got inspired.  
> set in the fallout world, meaning super mutants, raiders, ghouls, critters. no sole survivors, no vaults. the fractions (except for the institute) are, well, the army of united fractions. more will probably be explained once you read it. have fun!
> 
> (comments are appreciated ;) )

War. War never changes. 

The Glorious War started somewhere around 2267 and history books to come will name an exact date and a reason. All the soldiers and people fighting knew, that this war had been going on for too long already, too many casualties, too many deaths. 

The Glorious War, against the Institute and for the freedom of the people of the Commonwealth, was nothing like the leaders of the United Fractions had promised, no walk in the park and back by noon. The people that were left from the early days of the war chuckled about how foolish they had been, to think they could defeat the Institute so easily. 

“First time?”, someone coughed next to Travis on the boat. He nodded, gripping the rifle between his knees tighter. He fought the urge to throw up, biting the inside of his cheek.  
The middle-aged man sitting next to him smiled sympathetically and patted his shoulder, just before the ramp fell and their commanding officer yelled to move out, to keep their guns clean and to survive, idiots. Travis gulped, clutched his rifle to his chest and ran because his life depended on it as the Institute machine guns rattled to life in relative front of them. 

Sand and water sprayed the young man's face, blood and brain matter joined when a headshot exploded the head of the soldier in front of him. Travis gagged violently, tripping and falling.

“COVER!”, someone yelled, right before a grenade exploded in front of them. He pretended that the warm spray on his face was something other than blood.

Travis’ ears were ringing, he absentmindedly noticed that his arm was bleeding and he kept running, running to the front, to the dunes, to safety.  
Around him people were screaming, in pain, panic, to get their orders out. The medic next to him fell, clutching his helmet to his head and grunted. 

The young man kept running, not looking back or sideways anymore until he slammed into the sand next to the man from the boat. The man chuckled.  
“Still alive, huh?”, he coughed. The man was bleeding from a hole in his shin and was coughing up blood. Travis nodded furiously, shaking hands trying to unpack his gun. 

His commanding officer started screaming. Then the chaos began to unfold.

Travis didn’t know how he got there anymore.  
Someone slapped his back. He turned his head to see someone talking and grinning at him. Then he was ushered to a campfire, sat down and had his helmet taken away.  
Suddenly sound came back. He clutched his balled fists to his ears to keep the brunt of it out, without success. 

“.... Dogtags? Who do they belong to?”, the woman next to him asked, nodding to the tags he had in his balled fist. She was wearing a medic helmet with a bloody handprint on it. He slowly pried his fist open, blankly staring at the two metal plates. 

George Miller was the name of the guy from the boat. He had his legs blown away by a mine and in his frenzy, Travis had ripped off the dying man's dog tags. When he dropped them in the open palm of the woman talking to him he noticed the indents the metal had left on his palm. Her palms were bloodier than his and she wiped them on her jacket when she noticed him staring. 

“Would you take off your jacket and top for a second?”, she suddenly asked.  
“What?”, Travis was confused. “I’m not sure what you’re proposing here...?”, he mumbled self-consciously.  
“Do you want me to buy you dinner first so I can patch you up, dipshit?”, she snapped, making quick work of discarding his jacket and rolling up his sleeve. 

“Not another chucklefuck like Deacon, I can’t stand two of ‘em.”, she grumbled to herself while inspecting the gunshot wound.  
“You love me!”, a tall soldier with aviators hollered across the camp and threw her an air kiss. The medic just lifted her middle finger in his general direction, at which the soldier mock-swooned.  
“Get a fucking room!”, another man with a medic helmet yelled, before ducking into the barrack. 

A few hours later Travis was sat around the campfire with the rest of the soldiers. 

“S-so, how long have you been in the Glorious War?”, he asked. “I’ve just enlisted a few months a-ago…”, Travis added for good measure. Chuckles arose from around the fire.  
“He’s still green, so innocent.”, a woman, Glory, Travis added, said. 

“See, buddy.”, the medic who had introduced herself as Fröbel, smiled and rested her forearms on her knees when she looked him in the face.  
“The only people who actually still call this thing the Glorious War are the idiots at Brotherhood. Because they’re indoctrinated or something. Didn’ stay long enough to get it.”  
Her smile hadn’t faltered. “This is World War Zero, if we don’t win, then that’s it. Nothin’ glorious about that.”

“Brotherhood?”, Travis asked. Sure, he’d heard gossip about the whole Maxon thing, but that was it. Deacon, the man with the close-cropped dark red hair, nodded at the horizon and pointed at a large shape.  
“Bunch of jerkoffs hiding in power armour hiding in their airship. They think they’re gonna win this by being head-on.”, he grinned. “A lost cause, if you ask me.”, Deacon added with a flourish and a little bow.  
Fröbel shot him a look. 

“Technically we’re also jus’ a bunch of assholes hiding in trees, Deacon.”, she said, frowning at her helmet, rubbing at the bloody print with a dirty rag.

“Tell that to Dez’ and she’ll leave you behind when we move the base next time.”, Glory shot back, always the loyal soldier, glaring at Fröbel over her dinner. The medic just waggled her eyebrows at the tank.  
“Dez’ ain’t here. Deacon’s the lancer and since he’s an ‘insufferable and incompetent,”, Deacon slapped his hand over Drummer Boy’s face, when he did his best impression of Fröbels annoyed face, ”sonofabitch’, Fröbel is the highest ranking in camp. So, uh, “, Drummer smiled at Travis and awkwardly extended his bandaged hand over the fire.  
“Welcome in the Railroad, I guess.” Travis gently shook his hand. 

“And the fuckin’ war, for all that matters.”, grumbled Fröbel, nodding good night at the first watch. Deacon totally didn’t follow closely after.


End file.
